Sometimes You Dig Your Own
by Thistlerose
Summary: Mirrim isn't sure who she is or where - or when - she belongs. Set very shortly after N'ton chews her out in The White Dragon. Chapter XIX, I think. Background Mirrim/T'gellan.


Mirrim and Path arrived at Benden Weyr in such a huff that no one dared question their early return from Cove Hold. They went directly to the lake, which was still blanketed by a thick morning mist. A few weyrlings were playing in the shallows with their young dragons, so Mirrim guided Path to the far side. Once there, she dismounted and sank to her knees in the cool, pebbly sand, her head bowed.

Path crooned lovingly, but the tears came and ran scalding down Mirrim's cheeks.

_You are sad_, the green dragon observed. _I will call the Headwoman_.

Mirrim shook her head emphatically.

Sounding a trifle less certain, Path said, _I will call Monarth's rider._

"_No!_" The word exploded from Mirrim's mouth. "No, I don't want T'gellan. He's the last person I want to see now. Oh, Path." She turned and threw her arms around the great wedge-shaped head, pressed her cheek to the smooth hide. "I was so awful to Jaxom. I couldn't bear it if T'gellan knew. Not when I've been so awful to _him_. Though," she added with a sniffle, "I daresay he deserves it. I don't know why you'd even think of calling him, when he only had Monarth fly you because he felt sorry for me!"

_I do not think that that is true._

"_I_ do. Everyone else in the Weyr does."

Her great eyes whirling in soothing shades of blue and green, Path said again, _I do not think that that is true._

Mirrim sighed, though the memory of Path's mating flight caused a cold knot to tighten in her belly. T'gellan had made his offer and she, convinced that he'd only done it because none of the blue or brown riders of Benden wanted her, had yelled at him and rejected his pity. Of course, he'd sent Monarth after Path anyway, and for a little while she'd been glad – because she'd wanted him. She wouldn't admit it aloud, not even to Menolly or Brekke, but for several years now, she'd wanted T'gellan. And he'd been a gentle, considerate lover – despite being dragon-roused. Afterward, though. She hadn't known what to say after waking up in his arms, and she'd tried to mask her uncertainty, her vulnerability with…with…

She winced at the memory.

Awful accusations that had driven him from her weyr. In the three months since, they'd barely spoken.

"Path," she said miserably, "what _is_ the matter with me? Why can't I get along with people? Why can't I be like Menolly? Or Brekke, or Sharra? Lessa is harsh sometimes, but everyone likes her, or at least respects her."

_But you are not those people. You are you._

"I don't _like_ me! Nobody does!"

_I do. I love you._

"Well, you're…you're…mad!"

_I am not._

Mirrim almost smiled at the dragon's cool indignation. "Oh, Path." Her arms still around the dragon, she raised her head and gazed into the mist. If only, she thought, she could will the world away. Or will herself away, like D'ram had done after Fanna died. If she _did_ go _between_ to a different time, would anyone bother trying to find her? Fancifully, she imagined taking Path and her fire lizards to a Turn before the start of the present Pass. They could go back to the very end of the previous Pass, and live in one of the weyrs the Oldtimers had abandoned. Would anyone notice a lone green dragon? Perhaps if they hunted only at night…

"Or maybe we could go back even farther. How long do you suppose it's been since girls Impressing fighting dragons was…normal? T'gellan—" she muttered his name "—once said it was hundreds, maybe thousands of Turns."

_I do not know. It is too far back to remember._

"A _sevenday_ is too far back for you to remember," said Mirrim, not unkindly.

_Sometimes,_ Path agreed. _And you are needed here._

"By whom? And don't say T'gellan. If you say T'gellan, by the Egg of Faranth, I'll – I'll – jump right into the lake! And splash you."

_You are small and would not make a very big splash,_ was Path's unperturbed response. _But I was not going to mention him. Pern needs us. We fly well together. We are fast. We are strong. We fight Thread as well as any other dragon and rider._

"And better than most," said Mirrim haughtily, lifting her chin. The knot in her belly began to loosen.

_I think we should continue to do what we do best. Here, in this time._

"And what's that, my dearest?" But she knew the answer. "Fighting!"

_Yes._

Mirrim rose and walked to the lake's edge. There she knelt again and, cupping her hands, scooped some of the clear, cold water. She splashed her face with it. It felt good, so she scooped more for her neck and hair. Fighting! Well, she did ride a fighting dragon. The first girl in millennia to do so, and that had to mean something. It _had_ to, she thought, or why had she even Impressed Path that day?

_Because you were there_, the dragon said. _And I was there. That is why._

But Mirrim was sure suddenly that there was more to it than that. Well, she'd fight for her answers just like she fought Thread. She'd fight the other riders, even Jaxom and T'gellan, until they recognized her worth and Path's. She'd fight herself until she figured out just who it was she was meant to be.

5/12/09


End file.
